He once went there and back again
And Smaug the Golden soon was slain
In Erebor's depths he found the Stone,
Where Thorin once had made his home,
The armies five came for the gold,
And there in a story oft-times told,
The Oakenshield fell upon the field,
And Bolg's fate was finally sealed.
The job done, to home he did go,
To number five, Bagshot Row.
The hammers rang in Durin's home,
In endless halls of carven stone,
They toiled and dug in the nameless Deep,
And awakened a terror from it's sleep,
Which slew the Kings and broke the stone,
Until they fled their sacred Throne.
Swearing the Oath they paid the price,
And toiled across the Grinding Ice,
To fall in battle in the Middle-land,
The legacy of death from Feanor's Hand.
He arose in Might to rule the world,
And on the field his banner unfurled,
Brought pain and death to those it found,
He made the North their burial mound.
He spawned the wars which shaped the land,
His orcs as countless grains of sand,
But now he troubles the land no more,
We still remember the long bitter war.
Those of us who remain removed, apart,
We long for the Havens, and to depart.
Glowing silver, glowing gold,
Their tale of Ages has been told,
Their strength was taken, their life was drained,
And around their hill, the grass was stained.
But still they shine it has been said,
When Arien and Tilion fly over head.
Hear now the singing of the Sea,
It's voice it beckons, calling me,
Let's take to ship at the Havens Grey,
And heading West we'll sail away.
The walking trees, the Ents they came,
And Saruman's strength was put to shame,
They smote his walls and flooded his land,
And broke the grip of the White Hand.
The siege was great before the Tears,
The Noldor lost their doubts and fears,
But Morgoth brooded long and deep,
And through the ages did not sleep,
And when his host was terrible indeed,
Great Glaurung he did loose to feed.
O Anduin the Great, O King of Flows,
Ever on and south to the Sea he goes,
Bearing the body of Boromir the slain,
Who died in glory on Rohan's plain.
Plate and bottle, bowl and spoon,
They danced and sang beneath the moon,
Their wooly heads raised high with song,
These charming little folk to the Shire belong!
City of the Moon, now City of the Dead,
Adorning the wall, the last King's head,
Now Gondor waits, besieged and alone,
'Till the wanderer comes to claim his throne.
He brought them gifts, he brought them lore,
And from his plans had death in store,
And though they learned his secret desire,
Their land of Eregion still felt his fire.
Bringer of death and consumer of Light,
The hand of Beren he did bite,
The jewel it burned his innards deep,
Untill he slept the long dark sleep.
Devourer of Light, and drainer of Wells,
She fed on the sap and now she swells,
Her evil great, her hunger eternal,
Her corruption complete, her deeds infernal.
His Iron Crown, his realm of pain,
His hammer Grond, Fingolfin's bane,
His prison of terror his stronghold of might,
His minions stalking the endless night.
The sire his name was Nahar the great,
who fathered the line which stood at the Gate,
and faced the wrath of the Morgul Lord,
as Gondor fell by axe and sword.
In kingdoms lost and ancient realms,
His army as stars their shining helms.
They sailed forth in search of the star,
Which glittered in distant Valimar,
But found their death and now are gone,
The mighty fleet of Ar-Pharazon.